


Warmer

by kbvibes



Series: Shifting Dreams verse [3]
Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, idiocy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbvibes/pseuds/kbvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot that takes place before the narritave begins in Shifting Dreams. Another look into the tricky past. Mainly sex, though.</p><p>They both know what they feel, but haven't the slightest idea what to do about it all. This explains what Chris meant by "the hotel in New York, the window" as mentioned in Ch 51 of Shifting Dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmer

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaack. Sorry for being gone so long you guys, it's been crazy around here. I hope you're all doing well and surviving the Glee spoiler war of 2014.
> 
> This is just another little glimpse into what dummies these two have both been about one another for a long time. I tried to write PWP, but... feels happened. Enjoy!
> 
> Beta quote: "I bet his dick is as beautiful as his face." "..." "..."

He isn’t surprised by many things. Chris is pretty good at being able to size up and anticipate what people are going to do. Human beings are, for the most part, predictable creatures, and he’s spent a good portion of his life observing them. 

Darren has always been an exception to this rule.

He hadn’t known exactly how it was going to be to have to work with him tonight after the tense conversation a couple of weeks ago.The last time they spoke, they both said things that they probably didn’t mean, Darren’s tongue loosened by too many glasses of scotch and his own sharpened by anger and frustration. Things have been weird between them for months, finally leading to him putting the brakes on, and asking the other man to stay away from him outside of work. The way they constantly went in circles from friendship, to lovers, to jealously, to resentment, and back again, it was a stomach-churning carousel ride that Chris just wanted off of, once and for all. He meant the words when he said them, he did, but as the days passed, the anger lessened, and Chris began to just fucking _miss_ him. They conducted themselves awkwardly at work, moving around one another in a forced-smile polite dance that he was sure everyone around them had to have noticed by now. He has to force his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching Darren’s skin, wishing he could communicate that easily how very much he wanted to patch things up, to bring them back into a place where they could at least breathe around one another, without walking on eggshells.

But neither of them have been willing be make the first effort, to be the one to crack first, and so the thought of spending hours in one another’s personal space to film on location has caused Chris to spend a few sleepless nights leading up to it.

He braced himself for closed-off postures, guarded hazel eyes that refuse to meet his own, prepared himself for the stretches of distance as they both chose to sit as far apart as humanly possible as soon as the cameras stop rolling. 

He doesn’t expect the way that Darren’s wide eyes search him out as soon as he climbs out of the van, lighting up when they find him sitting alone on a bench while his hair is touched up to insure it will be wind-proof. Chris doesn’t know what to make of it when Darren walks right over to him and sits down, letting their hips and thighs touch, telling him all about his weekend in Chicago, easy smiles, casual touching. It’s like Chris is just back to being his favorite person in the world, rewinding the weeks to erase it all.

_“Darren, you’re drunk.”_

_“I’m a little drunk and you are a lot gorgeous and I just want to see you tonight so fucking bad.”_

_“We can’t. we’re… cooling things off remember? We can’t… I can’t see you right now. Not outside of work."_

_“Don’t do this. Please?”_

_“Don’t do what, Darren?”_

_“This! This passive aggressive, cold shoulder shit that you do. You know that isn’t-”_

_“What I know is that you are a fucking liar. All you ever do is lie to everyone about everything, and I am sick of being a part of it.”_

_"I don’t lie to you.”_

_"No, no maybe you don’t. You lie to yourself and that is so much worse. You don’t love me, Darren. You just like sex and like the idea that somebody knows who you are. That isn’t enough for me. I can’t talk to you right now. Go sleep it off, or go... Just do whatever you want.”_

_“Angel, just stop th-”_

_“Don’t call me that! Don't call me at all, I’m done.”_

Darren’s hand squeezing his knee brings him back to himself. He can feel the heat of the touch through the thick layers of winter clothes that separate their skin, and he swallows around the constricting tightness in his throat.

“You ready for this?”

“Not even remotely.” Chris takes the hands being offered out to him and lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“I’m not going to let you fall and break anything. Quit worrying.”

It was too late to save himself from falling or ending up broken. Chris pastes a tight smile onto his face that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. 

Darren’s amazing at it. Of course he is. Chris has always inwardly resented the way that things seem to come so damn easy to the guy. As the night wears on, he slowly becomes more sure on his feet, both in the literal sense and in being around Darren, as they dance around one another. The air around them remains light, easy, even though he can see his breath in the air, the sound of Darren’s laugh keeps the warmth flowing through his limbs. He’s able to forget that he had a reason that he shouldn’t have been missing him as terribly as he was. They’re friends, right? He was allowed to miss Darren when they don’t see each other for these stretches of time.

...maybe they both lie to themselves.

Darren’s hand against the small of his back, his lips against the freezing cold shell of his ear, those arms that bracket his waist whenever he is about to slip and bust his ass, it erases everything.

It’s only him and Darren now. And Chris wants him. Desperately.

 

The teasing, the touching, it comes back to Chris like breathing. He has to believe that he could be away from Darren for years instead of weeks, and the way they sync and play off of one another would come back just as easily. Between one blink of those impossibly long, fanned eyelashes and the next, the bitterness and cold subsides, leaving only _Darren Darren Darren_ in its place.

Shooting goes on into the small hours of the morning. He loses track of how many times he is pulled aside to have makeup retouch his face to try and tone down the bright apple red that stains his nose and cheeks. It won’t play well on camera. Finally, the word is yelled out across the ice that they have the footage they need, and the loud music that has been pumped in on repeat all night, cuts off with a sudden click. The abrupt lack of repetitive motion and sound jars his bones, something that he knows Darren must pick up on, when he feels a hand cup around and knead at the back of his neck. They're standing alone in the dark semi-seclusion of the area around the playback monitors, as the crew rushes around them to break down the equipment and hurry inside some place warmer. They have done their part, and are now more in the way than anything else while they wait for their ride back to the hotel. No one appears to take any notice of the way that Darren pulls the heavy glove he'd been wearing off and begins to silently work his strong, warm fingers into the tight muscle at the back of Chris' neck soothingly. 

The touch is an entire conversation transmitted via Darren's fingers and Chris' skin. Invitations without expectations. Confirmation that they are okay, no grudges are held, this is simply the way things go for the two of them. Darren does what he has to do, and Chris hates it. He gets angry, lashes out, intentionally chooses words that will cut Darren the deepest, and, eventually, he is forgiven. Bringing them right back to where they  
always are, where they are now. Never together, but unable to stay apart for long.

Chris answers him by arching his back into the touch. He accepts.

They say goodnight to the rest of the crew, and as casually as can be managed in a situation such as theirs, step into a single elevator car. He notices that Darren hasn't changed into a coat of his own, he still wears Blaine's quilted parka. He was going to catch Hell from wardrobe later. The analytical part of his brain quickly deducts that Darren wouldn't even have had any time to visit his hotel room yet, much less unpack or grab a jacket. He wants to make a sarcastic comment regarding the fact that the studio is paying for a room that Darren will only use for a maximum of three or four hours until he has to fly out again. The hand he places low on Darren's back, presses in so that the other man can feel it through the thick material of the coat and his shirt. He means to ask what time Darren has to wake up, but what comes out is "I..."

"What?" 

He sees only the other man's profile, when Darren half turns. The one eye Chris can see is dark gold like the interior of the burnished metal walls of the elevator they're in, gold around deepest black. 

He has made the offer, like Darren always does, whether it is accepted or not is Chris' decision. Nine times out of ten... This is no different. His hand slides around to rest at the curve of Darren's waist, stepping forward to mold his body along Darren's back. He tips his forehead against the back of the stiff, plasticy crunch of Darren's filming hair, and closes his eyes. The smell isn't anywhere near as nice as the sandalwood, sweat, and sex smell that his mind naturally associates with Darren being close to him, but it is familiar, comforting. Chris pulls a deep breath of it in, and closes his eyes. 

"Just stay with me tonight." 

The little more than a breath suggestion is neither a question nor a command, just a morsel of the honesty that Chris keeps so closely guarded under lock and key. It's an honest, sincere want. One that he knows Darren understands and welcomes when he leans back onto the heels of his feet, into Chris' body, without a word.

The electronic ding sounds, alerting them that they have reached the floor where they're both staying. The paneled and dark carpeted hotel hallways are deserted at this hour, and they feel safe enough to grin at each other, letting their arms brush between them. Chris reads the small directional panel on the wall trying to remember how to get back to his own room, then takes Darren's hand and tugs him down the winding halls into the direction of room 1928. 

As they near 1922, he pauses. They both changed out of their costumes (well, mostly) and used wet wipes and towels in a preliminary attempt to remove the worst of the thick, tacky stage makeup from their skin, but their hair is still grossly stiffened with products, and Chris feels a little disgusting. He can only guess Darren is in much the same boat. He ignores the screams of _"Don't you even, you cockblocking fool!"_ coming from his lower body, in order to listen to his brain. "Do you need to stop by your room first? You want to shower or anything?"

Darren smirks and rolls his eyes, one arm slipping loosely around Chris' body to nuzzle his face into his neck. They shaved Darren in makeup just before they started to shoot around ten or so hours ago, and he can already feel the rough scrape of stubble across Darren's upper lip and chin. Chris kind of hates him a little. A soft lipped kiss is pressed into the hollow behind his ear. 

"If I wanted to get off smelling like soap, I could just as easily make due with a bottle of body wash and my right hand, Colfer. Come on."

Can't argue with that. Chris allows himself to be led down the hall to his room.

Their kisses are rushed and too rough, teeth scraping lips and uneven breaths being panted out against one another's faces. The silly, laughing air around them turns thicker with need when Chris feels the unmistakable press of Darren's cock against his hip. It causes a shiver to ripple down Chris' spine as he walks Darren backwards towards the bed, without ever releasing his mouth. Those low grunts and feathery whimpers that the other man makes when Chris shoves his hard thigh between Darren's legs, is a delicacy that he has missed, and now it is as if he can't taste them enough. They undress themselves with almost frantic movements, their hands bumping each other's bodies as they work between them, without stepping back to make room. It's a slow process that takes several minutes more than it usually should, but in the end, Chris has all of that warm, smooth skin laid out before him and his mouth goes dry. 

Darren is laying back on the bed, propped up on his elbows with his legs bent at the knee, and hanging off the end. This dark colored, hard dick lays heavily on his thigh, waiting for a touch to make it swell up under his hand or mouth. Chris’ fingers clench and release at his sides from the muscle memory of feeling the weight and thickness of it in his hand. Chris knows that being gay, he had a natural propensity to appreciate such things, but above and beyond, Darren has one beautiful, fucking cock. He kneels at the floor by the foot of the bed, and slides both his hands from Darren's kneecaps, up the now thickly furred insides of his thighs, forcing his legs further apart so that he can slide himself closer between them. He strokes Darren's skin with his palms, outlining the shape of his pelvis and the padded curve of his hips, back and forth, enjoying the impatient sounds Darren makes as his dick begins to leak at the wide, purple-red tip.

"What exactly are you waiting for?"

Chris slaps at the head of Darren's cock with the backs of his fingers."Stop being such a brat." He grins and places his open mouth against the soft skin beneath Darren's belly button, nipping and sucking at the soft swell there that contrasts so much against the newfound firmness of his own stomach. Darren's body is all compact, tight, strength and caramel colored skin, the antithesis of any "type" had always thought he was into. He wasn't tall, with shaggy, tousled blonde surfer hair, didn't have a sculpted hard lined body, or deep brooding eyes. He was just Darren, like no one and nothing else, and Chris has never been more attracted to anyone in his life.

He grants himself time to play, to tease and frustrate Darren before he finally ducks his head down low to lick at Darren's weighty balls, moving one with his tongue and sucking it into his hot mouth without using his hands. The delicate thin skin feels like wrinkled silk wrapped around the warm, pulsing flesh inside. He ignores the curses, and Darren's hips jolting up off of the bed, humming around his mouthful and knocking his nose repeatedly against the underside of Darren's cock.

One of the other man's hands slam down to Chris' head, fighting through the over-styled, teased up front of his hair, scratching through until his nails hit Chris' scalp, and sending a small shower of hairspray flakes raining down onto the hair around his dick. His licks and kisses are slow, coaxing every possible drop of blood he can into Darren's groin, until his cock lays thick and perfect on Darren's quivering belly, slick and wet from oozing precome and Chris' own spit. He teases with the shortest of sucks around the head, rubbing the widening slit against the smoothness of his lips, while his other hand secures Darren's hip down to the mattress. 

He feels the wide grin that splits his face in half, exposing the deep dimples in his cheeks, when he glances up to see just how pitiful Darren's face looks above him. He kisses the fresh drop of bitter stickiness away. "Fine, Mister Bossy." He grabs ahold of the bedding with both hands and uses that and his knees to pull him up onto the bed so that he straddles Darren's waist. The kiss is filthy, tongues that tease and taunt, sharing the salty bitter taste of Darren's cock between them. He pulls back with a gasp when Darren arches his back up, sending Chris' own dick scraping through the thick, coarse hair that covers the bottom of Darren's stomach. "Please tell me that one of us is was halfway prepared for this, and hint: it's not me." 

Sure, they could suck each other off or even rut against one another's bodies until they came, but his own single-mindedness and the way Darren's hips keep churning upwards against him, tells Chris that that's not precisely what either of them want tonight. They have been sporadically hooking up for well over a year, and Chris knows that he should be prepared for the possibility of this happening again, but what happens between him and Darren, the way this man makes him feel, isn't something that he has ever been able to think about logically. Together they exist in a world outside of logical thought and rules, where there is only skin, and heat, and wide, wet eyes that seem to see fucking _everything_. Darren sees the parts of Chris that he projects, the ones he wants him to, those eyes see all the things he fights so hard to keep hidden away, and also every tiny, insignificant detail in between.

Darren's nod is frantic against the side of his neck where Chris was frighteningly certain he was biting a mark into his fair skin. "Yeah, yes, wallet. We're good."

Chris smashes his grateful grin against Darren's mouth, pecking little kisses right onto Darren's tongue, before he is awkwardly scrambling backwards off of the bed. He digs around on the floor for their discarded clothes, finally locating Darren's wallet in the back pocket of his pants. it doesn't take him long to come across a single condom and foil packet of lube tucked away behind some cash in the main folding compartment. The tiny packets of lubricant were something that Darren had introduced Chris to on the set, when three minute long, giggling, rushed handjobs would be all they had time for. Sometimes it was like the things were invented with the two of them specifically in mind. Chris pauses once he drops Darren's wallet back onto the nightstand beside the bed, his smile trembling on his face. The tiny amount of lube that you squeeze into your hand from the foil pouch is hardly enough to be able to... He glances down at the two small, wrapped squares in his hand and looks skeptical all of a sudden.

He licks his dry lips. "You sure this is gonna be alright? I mean we don't have much."

Darren has already scooted himself up the bed, and is now repositioning the pillows around his body with a bright eyed smile. "Yeah, I am so fucking sure. Just means we've only got one shot at this, so we'd better get it right on the first try." He moves one of the pillows underneath the small of his back, scrunching it up until he finds the sweet spot that will angle his lower body the way he likes it. "Get over here, Christopher."

Chris kneels back onto the bed and wriggles his way up between Darren's spread legs on the mattress, bending down to kiss his way back up his chest. He reaches Darren's chin and bites down on his plump bottom lip, pulling back and tugging it with his teeth. "I guess I'm doing the honors?"

Strong hands smooth down Chris' back from his shoulder blades, skimming over the globes of his ass, teasing the hypersensitive backs of his thighs and back up again. "If by honors you mean fucking me, then by all means. This is all you, babe." His hand flashes out and sntaches away the two small foil packets away from Chris, laying them on the pillow beside his head, and pulls him in for a searing kiss that curls his fingers and toes. 

Kissing Darren is always like coming home, he knows the shape of his teeth and his tongue, his taste is something that is ingrained in his memory. Chris twines his fingers through the gel holding Darren's thick hair close to his scalp. Darren's eyes gleam up at him, reflecting the light coming from the partially open bathroom door. He laughs when Chris takes a moment to scratch at his head, loosening the stranglehold that the gel has on his dark curls as best he can. Chris is a hair puller, he can't stand the Blaine hair. Darren's always teased him about this being a _thing._ Once it is as free as it is going to get, frizzy and soft under stiff and crunchy, beneath Chris' hands. "Better?" Darren's smile scrunches his eyes, while he enjoys the feeling of Chris playing with his hair.

"Much." 

They trade quietly laughing kisses and random playful rolls of their hips, sending their dicks rubbing against one another's stomachs and thighs. Darren goes quiet when he bends one knee, letting it fall to the side, exposing himself to Chris' stare. The river water golden brown had all but darkened to black in his eyes in a way that Chris recognizes as a very specific desire. 

He takes a deep breath and sits back on his knees, reaching out for the little lube packet. Darren watches him, one hand draped across his own stomach, the other tracing little abstract patterns onto the side of Chris' knee. The soft touch tickles, and despite the fact that they are both naked and about to have sex, he finds himself ducking his head, red-cheeked, almost shyly, and looks down at the lube in his hand instead. He rips the foil at the perforated line and squeezes every drop that he can into the palm of his other hand. It ends up being a dollop only the size of a silver dollar, Chris is careful with the way that he coats the fingers of his right hand with the slick, clear liquid. He looks up to see that Darren's hand has drifted down his body to loosely fist himself, in languid strokes up and down. He nods when he catches Chris' eyes and presses his head back hard into the pillows behind him.

Chris uses his free hand to push up at Darren's other thigh, and runs his wet fingertips from the taut skin beneath his balls, down along the crease of his ass to Darren's tiny, dark hole. He rubs his fingers in counterclockwise circles a few times, wetting the skin around the rim, waking up the thousands of nerve endings clustered around the opening of Darren's luscious ass. He would normally take far more time to feel him soften and loosen under his touch before pressing in, but Chris' mind is focused on the tease of his mind that knows all too well just how fucking amazing Darren feels inside, and the fact that their tiny supply of lube will dry up quickly. He wants to be _in_ him. Without further hesitation, Chris presses two fingers into Darren's hole roughly, and without further warning. Chris has always been in awe of the eager and relaxed way that Darren just takes his fingers and eventually his cock, opening up for him so well with a moan and a full bodied shudder. They've been together far enough times to know the other's bodies and reactions, so when Darren cries out with a hoarse "ahh!" and seems to wince at the press of Chris' fingers inside his ass, he freezes instantly. Darren's face isn't anything remotely like the usual overwhelmed blissed out expression he usually wears when he is being stretched, he actually looks uncomfortable, in pain. He has never had a hard time taking two fingers before, Chris fights back the impulse to snatch his fingers suddenly free of Darren's body, possibly hurting him worse. "Dare, what? You okay? I need to stop?"

His eyes are squenched tight, his face a crumpled look of deep concentration, as Darren breathes out slowly. "N-no. I'll just, fuck. Just... a lot. Shit." He clenches tight, muscles spasming around Chris' finger still only pushed in to the second knuckle. His eyes are back to a smokey liquid gold when his lashes flutter open and he looks down at Chris, still breathing heavily and gripping onto Chris' arm tight. "Yeah, I'm... I'll be good. It's just been a while for me, wasn't quite ready. It's good, you can keep... Yeah, Chris. Okay, yeah." He babbles, his face still tense and clearly trying to breathe through the sudden burn.

Chris is still at war with himself, debating whether or not to pull his fingers out or keep going. He has barely pushed past the second ring of strong muscles inside Darren's ass, and he'd expected it to feel tight, of course, but the uncontrollable way that Darren keeps squeezing around him almost painfully, worries him. The sight of Darren's creased forehead and the way he looks speared on his fingers like this, make his brain work slowly, moving through deep water to the surface until Darren's words finally break through and reach him. "It's been... it's been three months? Shit, Darren! You haven't been with... You haven't even been fucking _yourself_?!" His mind boggles at the information. 

Darren has to clear his throat harshly before speaking. "No, asshole, I haven't picked up any random losers lately. And as far as fucking myself, I am spoiled, okay?" Chris can feel it as Darren's body finally acclimates to the feeling of having something inside of it after so long. He flexes his hips in tentative rocking motions against Chris' hand and he lets out a long, slow breath. "Are we doing this?" 

Chris has to close his eyes against the sight, too bad it does nothing to dampen the feeling of Darren beginning to fuck himself onto his hand. It also can't erase the flare that ignites inside him at hearing that Darren hasn't been out hooking up with other guys since they haven't seen... Just haven't _been_. It would be completely understandable and allowed if he had, they weren't anything, really. Most of the time but not always, friends, who sometimes fuck. That's what Chris tells himself, anyway. It's the only way to hold on to some semblance of control over everything that goes on between them. Letting himself consider that they could ever be more than this, is a dangerous path that leads to a dark place that Chris is far too scared to ever venture into. Still, the knowledge that neither of them have been... actively looking, causes Chris to shiver and he has to take a calming breath like he is the one adjusting to something huge inside him.

"Babe, please..."

The plea forces his eyes to snap open. Darren's holding one of his knees back and to his chest, rocking slowly back onto the fingers Chris has been holding stationary inside his ass, he's resumed jerking his bright red dick with firm, twisting tugs. Sweat is beginning to prickle across his forehead and upper lip and he starts to work himself in an increasing rhythm. In the span of time between two heartbeats, Chris feels himself make the transition from somebody in the midst of a hookup with a incredibly hot guy, to someone's lover. He leans over Darren's body to press his lips to the rough-textured underside of his jaw. He feels the stubble on Darren's face scrape and cut at the tender, wet skin inside his bottom lip as he drags it over his chin to find his lips. There is the slightest metallic coppery tang when he kisses Darren deeply. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm going to take care of you, Dare." He drops his body down to the bed, focusing fully on the slow in and out plunge of his fingers into Darren's softened hole. So long without anything, he knows how much he must be needing it. He moves his lips over Darren's chest and his upper arm, as the other man jerks himself off between them. Chris folds a third finger alongside the other two, and pushes back in. Darren moans from deep within his chest and Chris feels the vibration through his searching lips. "Give your body what it needs, Darren. Just let me take care of you now." He strokes the too dry skin of the rim stretched tight around where his fingers are now thrusting in and out of the fire-hot inside of Darren's body with his thumb, both soothing and stimulating it. He can't seem to stop murmuring into Darren's sweat tasting skin. "Tell me what you need and I'll give it, okay, baby?" He mouths at one of the pebbled little nipples on Darren's heaving chest.

Chris watches Darren's unfocused eyes drift from him, to some spot across the room. Darren licks his lips and grips the back of Chris' neck with the hand he's been using to pull at his aching cock, now holding Chris' mouth to his skin.

"The window. Push me up against the window? Pick me up?" Darren winds one leg around the back of Chris' thighs, pressing their bodies closer.

Chris has to blink away the lights already popping behind his eyelids, looking up at him in a daze himself. "You... The window? You want people to see? Dare, no, we can't do-"

Darren shakes his head and grabs both of Chris' shoulders pulling him up to him, causing his fingers to slip out of his ass. "No, no, not like, not like that. We're up this high, and we'll keep the lights off, no one can see. Just want to feel the cold glass against my back while you hold me up and fuck me so good, Chris. Come on. Come on, Babe." His pleading is interspaced with sucking kisses all over Chris' mouth, nose, cheeks, and chin. "Please, God, want you. Want your cock, come on." Darren fingers scrabble blindly beside them on the bed for the nearly forgotten condom wrapper. It crinkles loudly when his shaking fingers close around it and his huge, beautiful eyes stare up at Chris, like he's asking for oxygen or lifeblood.

He doesn't think, he acts. Chris rolls off of Darren's body and pushes himself to his feet, swaying a little at the surges of arousal rushing through his body. He pulls Darren up after him, winding his arms around the other man's neck and kisses him hard. He walks backwards, drawing Darren with him as they stumble across the room. They nearly trip over one of Chris' shoes in the process, but finally he smacks against the cold glass of the floor to ceiling window. The frosty glass against his overheated bare skin makes him gasp and arch away reflexively, Darren swallowing the sound with a needful groan. Spinning them around so that it's Darren who is pressed against the smooth, hard surface, Chris watches wild-eyed. Darren hisses and lets his head fall back, exposing the tempting line of his throat and the bobbing of his Adam's apple, hands gripping bruisingly tight to Chris' hips, and pulling him in against him. Their hard cocks get caught between them, smashed awkwardly between their bodies, making Chris cry out his name into the dark room. 

Chris sucks in a thin feeling breath. "This won't... I won't be able to hold you long. I'm already too far gone."

"Just want to feel you holding me up, Chris. Your arms, your fucking shoulders. Shit, you have no idea. So beautiful, so damn beautiful it hurts. I wanna feel it everywhere. All around me. Inside. Just, please." Darren's fingers fumble with the condom wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth and spitting out the strip of torn foil onto the floor. He squats down in front of Chris, bracing one hand on his stomach and using the other to roll the latex onto the head of his leaking cock. It's not easy work, Chris has been hard for ages. The precome makes Darren's fingers slip and slide as he carefully works to cover the length of Chris' long, curved erection. 

He has to brace both hands flat against the window, the chill from the frosty November air outside seeping in through the glass, and traveling up Chris' arms making him shiver violently. "You really sure you want to do-"

Darren straightens back up in front of him. He takes Chris' face firmly between his hands, and kisses his lips in far too sweet a manner for what he is asking him to do to him. "I need you."

Those are the words Chris needs to hear. He pulls one of Darren's firm, muscled legs up around his hip, and lines himself up with the barely wet, but well stretched hole between his cheeks. They are both going to be sore as hell tomorrow. 

From the time Chris pushes himself into Darren, he knows he was right, there is no way this is going to be able to last as long as either of them may want. Darren's legs are wrapped tightly around his hips, arms clinging to his shoulders. They move together, Darren moaning out loud at the dual sensations of the cold glass against his bare ass and back, and the sweaty, hot skin of Chris' body pressed up tightly against the front of him. 

His arms and legs are burning, fighting against the urge to just explode. He struggles, panting hard, shaking violently. He fights... and fails. Chris cries out, feeling his knees threaten to give out. He moves one hand from where it has been gripping the back of Darren's thigh and braces himself against the glass so that they won't both go crashing down to the floor. 

Darren groans when he feels Chris come apart inside of him, craning his head down to kiss him, thrusting his tongue in Chris' mouth. It's a measured approximation of the way Chris is still moving weakly inside of him, completing their perfect circuit of give and take. 

Darren begins to jerk himself frantically, hand flying up and down his dick, twisting around the painfully swollen head, as he whines his impatience into Chris' lips. 

"Sorry. I tried to wait. Just come, Dare. Come for me?" Every muscle in Chris' body quakes as he uses up some secret reserve of strength he hadn’t ever even realized existed within him, as he tries to support the weight of Darren's body. It feels like the other man suddenly weighs several thousand pounds. Darren's sweaty skin squeaks across the window as he begins to slip down a few inches. He tightens his shaking, tired arms around Darren's body, refusing to let him fall. Now or ever.

Luckily for them both, Darren chooses that moment to arch his back and come in hot, sticky thin streams across their bellies. His head drops weakly to Chris' shoulder as he pants loudly in his ear.

His legs have held out for as long as humanly possible. Chris slips down to his knees, arms wrapped securely around Darren, bringing them both to sit on the floor. The short, generic hotel room carpeting is rough against his naked ass, as he strokes one hand weakly up and down the length of Darren's back. They both ignore the fact that they are tangled together and coated in come, communicating in breathless laughs, brief kisses, to whatever piece of skin their lips can reach without moving, and sleepy humming noises. 

He isn't sure how long they sit there, but his legs go to sleep underneath Darren's body, pins and needles attacking his skin. Darren finally flops down on to the floor next to him with a loud groan, throwing an arm over his face. Even with wrecked gel-head and covered in sweat and come, he is probably the most gorgeous thing Chris has ever seen. 

"Have I ever mentioned that I fucking love New York?" Darren's voice is muffled against the side of his arm. He grins up at Chris when it falls away from his face.

"You mean you love getting fucked in New York." He snorts and stretches out his legs, trying to regain some feeling in his numb-feeling toes.

Darren makes a vague motion in the air with his hand. "Potato, pahtato."

He snorts. "Asshole."

Darren rolls over onto his side and kisses Chris' hip with a loud smacking sound. His eyes drift closed again, and Chris thinks he is about to curl up and fall asleep right there on the hotel room floor. But then Darren stretches with a loud groan and a lazy smile, twisting his naked body back and forth. "An asshole who needs to get back to my own room, shower, and grab my shit, if I want to make it back to the airport on time." He pushes himself to sit up, and then begins to crawl around the floor on his hands and knees, collecting his various articles of clothing as he goes. He slips into his jeans and pulls his shirt on over his head, before looking back over at where Chris sits watching quietly. "I'm gonna take off. You should try and get some sleep, Colfer." 

Chris nods, pulling his knees up to his chest and just watching while Darren sits down on the edge of the still-made bed, and puts on his shoes. As his heart rate and body temperature slow and go down, he can feel his walls go back up. He wraps his arms around his knees, subtly closing himself off without a word.

Darren shoves his wallet and phone back into his pocket and looks down at Chris with an unreadable look on his tired face. "You okay?"

 _No._ "Waiting on you to go so I can go to bed, Darren." He forces a tight smile onto his face. He picks up the disgusting used condom off the floor, he'll have to leave the cleaning lady a nice tip when he checks out of this room in a couple of days. Come stains on the carpet have to be a bitch. He tosses the tied-off rubber into the trashcan with a quiet "ick."

Bending and pressing his lips to Chris' forehead, Darren sighs quietly, before he turns and walks away. He shuffles his feet for a moment and pauses by the door. "Guess I'll see you next week then?"

Chris nods. The tense silence holds until he looks away, sitting on the bed and focusing his eyes on the window that now seems to hold a very different view than the one he woke up to the previous morning. He doesn't turn to look when he hears a quiet "Bye, Chris" or the too loud click of the closing door.

He can't seem to look away from the sweat smeared outline of Darren's body left behind on the window glass, the heat of his skin having melted the frost from the other side. The way they come and go out of each other's lives, sometimes these blurry after images are the only reminders that Darren has ever even been there at all.


End file.
